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Black and White	By : CyberII Category: +M through R > Mass Effect Views: 8146 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Do not own Mass Effect or characters, writing for fun, but not profit.

Chapter List
- 1-Pt.1
- 2-Pt.2
- 3-Pt.3
- 4-Pt.4
- 5-Pt.5
- 6-Pt.6
- 7-Pt.7
- 8-Pt.8
- 9-Pt.9
- 10-Pt.10
- 11-Pt.11
- 12-Pt.12
- 13-Pt.13
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Aria just nodded curtly to greet Samara, showing her to take place on the sofa next to her. The Justicar didn't blame her for discourteousness; she became used to her presence causing tension and almost estranged from keeping up the conversation herself.

"I've been thinking about your problem," the Omega ruler didn't even look at the older asari. "Since I need neither you nor Ardat-Yakshi on my territory, I'll help to get rid of you both. Seems like I have little information on your runaway, she's good in hiding."

Aria stood up, pacing a lounge, then spoke to her bodyguards coldly.

"Give us some privacy. Now."

She turned back, sat closer to the Justicar, crossing her legs.

"I will tell you what I got. Tell me something in return."

"What would it be?" Samara calmly stared her up and down.

Aria's lips stretched in a wicked smile. She folded her arms on her chest, leaning back.

"What's he like?"

She shot a glance at Samara quietly staring back.

"Come on, you actually found him, otherwise you won't return here for more details yet."

"Yes, I did," the Justicar confirmed, unimpassioned, "I need him to help me; I won't endanger him by giving out the information."

Aria let a short laughter out.

"I'm not asking for it. We're big girls here, how about a small girl talk? I'm just curious, and if I decide to figure out something about him myself – that's when he'd be in trouble."

She cocked her head, observing a stripper, clearly bored.

"Is he old? Young? Sexy or ugly? I don't need you to grass him up, but I could use a little entertainment here."

Samara let her stare defocus, remembering her encounter with Archangel few days ago.

"He's a turian. Young, he couldn't have completed the military service; dropped out, I assume. Just as you told – reckless, idealistic, hot-headed. Sarcastic, but with a good heart. Charming," she involuntarily smiled, remembering his alert yet proud eyes.

Aria laughed, brows raised.

"Charming? So the guy who's having a quad to piss off every major merc gang on my asteroid could charm a Justicar?"

"I find it… adorable, when someone that young has such strong sense of justice," Samara brushed her off coldly.

"Whatever," Aria smirked, amused, "Just don't start a cheesy love story on my station, you two cause enough trouble individually."

The older asari was about to object, but a thought crossed her mind that Aria probably doesn't need or deserve her explaining the lonely path of a Justicar. She was just mocking.

"There were few strange deaths recently," Aria changed the topic casually, "Only Ardat-Yakshi could leave the corpses so drained."

The face of the ruler of Omega turned dark and malicious.

"Most of them were Afterlife VIP section clientele. That blood-thirsty bitch gives a bad name to my club. She must hang around there looking for next victims."

Samara refrained from a remark that 'Afterlife' apparently had no necessity in extra notoriety. She just wanted to get it over with her chase, not stoke up the cross-talk.

"I'll give you a pass to the VIP area. Or whoever will be used as bait," Aria T'Loak gave her a glacial smile, "None of the staff will know it's going to be him; you have Aria's word on it. It will be him, won't it?"

It's been five days since Samara talked to Archangel. She stayed calm – he warned her he has plans of his own, and she believed he didn't forget their conversation.

Those days weren't wasted for nothing anyway – she talked to Aria once again, or her VIP area bouncer, to be specific. She recollected everything she knew about the habits of a person she's chasing. And she meditated a lot to retain her composure Omega did a great job of tempting her to lose.

She was sitting on the floor, room lights off, facing a large window, where she could get sight of permanently dark sky of Omega, colored slightly with artificial lights' reflections. Her glowing eyes didn't quite see it though, her gaze directed depthward into centuries of her memories. Fluorescent blue protuberances danced between her palms.

She was lost so deeply into it she didn't hear a chirp of overridden lock and a soft sound of the door opening. Only the clang of armor made the glowing eyes blink uncertainly, if that sound came from her mind or the dark room behind her.

It was him.

Shaky, hanging on the door frame like grim death – in the darkness of the room Samara didn't make out what's wrong with him. He tried to make a step inside, ended up collapsing in a heap of heavy armor, uttering a sharp hiss of pain. Jerky movement of his arm tore the helmet off his head; he managed to sit up, his back to the wall. He chuckled wearily.

"Sorry for the ungraceful entrance… I decided to… embrace your offer to drop by… ah, anytime."

He was a mess. His armor bore a number of fresh gunshot markings and an impressive pattern of blood splats of various colors. The orange stains were the most distinguishable, yet his own blue blood was hard to tell from his armor color.

Samara turned on the lights; he winced, baring his teeth, stained with blood. The helmet had a solid crack on its side; his right eye turned dark blue from being bloodshot.

"If you're going to ask… if I'm alright, ah, at least… I'll die laughing. Not… the worst way… I can think of right now."

"Someone pursuing you?"

She looked out of the door to see any trail left by him, locked the door properly.

"I doubt so, no, not anymore… That's why… my apologies… I had to go somewhere no one have any idea..," he forced out short pieces of phrases between the gasps.

He shifted, trying to stand up, and failed. Cobalt blue blood started to pool around his boot.

"Of course, it's your right to… throw me out of here. No hard f-… feelings…"

Samara observed him struggling with the clasps of his boot. She became disaccustomed to random shows of sympathy long ago, but on the other hand her heart hardened only towards those who deserved it. He was in danger, most likely because of his views and actions; he came to her even though he didn't know her good enough to trust her.

"You need help," she replied hastily, kneeling beside him, "Regarding your injuries I'm impressed you managed to get here by yourself."

He threw his head back, letting out a gargling laughter, spat a mouthful of blood on the floor and continued with the laughing.

"Garm smashed a, ha-ha-ha, whole crate of Red Sand with me... Probably got few pounds of that shit in my armor, ha-ha, never thought it's… good for drug smuggling… Aaand got all dusted up in process… That could be the only thing because of which I made it here on my feet… Well," he made another futile effort to make his legs obey, "Not anymore… But at least I'm not passing out… of blood loss, or pain, or damage taken… yet. We can still go back to dying of laughter, you know… I don't appreciate all the re-… maining ideas including overdose…"

He coughed up blood, wiped the blue streaks under his nose and on his chin, still chuckling.

"Full story later… If you're positive about me staying."

"I told you you're welcome, I didn't specify the circumstances. Now you need medical assistance," she helped him to take off the leaking boot.

"I think here's more blood than is left in me," he looked on the puddle with a grin. "I'm lucky it didn't spill out earlier to leave a blood trail. Hah, I'm lucky today, could you believe it…"

"I'm amazed by your humorous approach, but even I find it rather disturbing in your current state," Samara helped him to stop the blood flow from a nasty lacerated wound just above the greave edge. Looked like a varren job. "I have some medi-gel, but no dextro medical supplies."

"While I'm still laughing... it's not over with me yet… I'd better laugh than scream," his voice hoarsened, words coming out slower. "I'm… not that bad. Could've lost much less blood… if not being chased down over half of Omega."

He faintly stopped her from further examining of his injuries.

"Hate to abuse your hospitality… passing away on th-… the floor would be more abusive though… Could I ask you to get someone able… to provide efficient medical aid?.. I can't go to… any clinic around here; the gangs… are probably hunting up a half-dead and… tripping balls turian already... Heh, funny human saying… what kind of balls they trip over…"

The asari raised her eyes to meet his stare slowly turning glassy.

"Of course, but… leaving you here?"

"Don't worry, I won't join the Spirits… until you're back," he cracked up a weary smile, wincing. "Although… you're so kind I'm not sure… you're not part of the trip."

She raised her hand to brush off few droplets of blood, seeping between his faceplates – not to cup his cheek; his head lolled against her palm - not leaned into the touch.

"There is a doctor who will help," Samara barely heard his gravelly whisper, when he activated his omni-tool to transfer the landmark coordinates. "Be careful, it's Blue Suns' territory…"

Samara heard the rapid speech from the clinic hallway long before she located the speaker himself; and even when she finally saw him, his patter seemed to never end. An old weedy salarian dressed in white lab coat apparently was that Mordin Solus her unexpected guest told her about. Hunched over a table with a sickly-looking batarian on it, he was talking to a relatively younger human, probably his assistant. The Justicar waited politely in the doorway, not willing to interrupt him.

"Professor…" the assistant noticed her first and hesitantly tried to put a word in, waving his hand at her direction. Dr. Solus straightened and turned to face the asari. Large black eyes blinked curiously.

"Asari Justicar. Interesting. Never hoped to see one in my life time."

"You are surprisingly well informed, doctor Solus," Samara nodded.

"Worked in STG. Retired now, still hear things," the salarian dropped nonchalantly as if he was talking about working in a flower shop. "Wondered, what Aria had been thinking allowing a Justicar on Omega. Surprised this asteroid's still intact. Personally admired Justicars' work, beautiful ancient tradition. Sadly, becoming extinct. Felt an interest in the Code myself. Amazing approach to ethically questionable aspects. Ignoring. End justifies means..."

"Professor, I'm impressed you know that much about the Justicars and I feel deep respect to your study of our Code. I hope we'll have an opportunity to talk more eventually," Samara made an effort to get to her real purpose. Dr. Solus seemed to be really unstoppable when speaking, and her tact made it hard to break in. "I came here to ask for your help. A… friend of mine is severely wounded in my apartment; I need you to come with me…"

"Friend of a Justicar, on Omega. Gets more interesting," Solus pulled a small case from under the table, quickly moved across the room to a wall safe. "Lots of work in the clinic, new disease, presumably artificial. Must prevent epidemics. Although, word of a Justicar. No unimportant case or unworthy person," he added with an inscrutable smile. "What kind of wounds does your friend have?"

"I can not tell you much, he sent me to get you before I could take a good look. Beaten up, bitten by a varren, probably shot. Massive blood loss. It looked like he was in a fight, lots of krogan blood on him. And he mentioned inadvertent exposure to large amount of Red Sand."

Mordin Solus gave her a look.

"Inadvertent. Key word. How? Not asari, unaffected by Red Sand. Your friend's species? Getting in a fight with krogans. Reckless for any species. Need transportation to the clinic."

Samara hesitated. Garrus trusted Solus enough to ask to treat him, but what exactly he'd let the nosey doctor know?

"He's turian, professor," she answered mildly, "And he… couldn't be transported here. As for the incident with the Red Sand – I was told that someone he called 'Garm' broke a crate of it when they wrestled."

Dr. Solus spun around staring at her with huge black glossy eyes, surprisingly silent for the first time. Did she tell something wrong, the Justicar wondered.

"Krogan battlemaster. Bad wrestling partner choice," he snapped out finally. "Garm, local Blood Pack leader. Brute, ruthless, blood-minded. Incredible regeneration, even for a krogan. Your 'friend' must have a death wish. Extreme luck he got away alive. His status when you leaved?"
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